Training Camp broke me, challenged me, and forced me to learn some hard lessons, in good ways and bad ways. From some of my most difficult moments came my greatest triumphs but unfortunately, Training Camp resulted to one of my biggest fears becoming true: I wasn’t ready. The AIM staff sent me home a little over halfway through and informed me that if I worked out some things, I could return in a year to join a July 2015 squad – not exactly what I had expected to hear.
I had to go right away, which meant immediately booking a ticket home and leaving the camp without saying goodbye to anyone. (I Squad, if you’re reading this, please know that I love all of you and it broke my heart to have to leave you so soon.) I didn’t exactly go home first – I made some arrangements and ended up flying to Rochester instead of my home in Buffalo. The first person I had called after finding out I couldn’t leave for the race in September was Carrie Starr, a former professor of mine who had been beside me in my World Race journey from the beginning. I asked if I could stay with her for the night and she graciously said yes. I did eventually tell my parents and I won’t pretend it was an easy thing to do, but I bit the bullet and made the call.
In less than a week I felt that I had gained a family and been torn away from them days later. I had finally started to open up and be vulnerable, and then it was all over. I’m still not completely at peace with what happened or the ultimate reasons why I was sent home (which I am choosing to keep to myself for now) but it will come with time.
For now, however, I’m not sure how I feel. Ironically, some of our seminars/sessions from training camp covered topics such as pain and grief, and this isn’t exactly the way I thought I would have to apply them. I underestimated the physical pain that comes with emotional pain – this deep achy feeling in my chest that weighs down on me as if an elephant were sitting on me. The last time I’d felt pain like this – years ago – it was because someone had died. I didn’t realize it could come out of nowhere for something like this.
But my God is a healer of all pain, wounds, and scars, no matter where from or how deep. He has healed me before and I have no doubt He will again.
My day in the airport on the way home from training camp felt like it lasted forever – every day at training camp had felt like that, but this one even more so. Leaving Gainesville happened fast, with no time to say goodbye to any member of my squad. I was driven back to the tents, packed up everything (Although I later discovered that I accidentally left my belt there) and headed back to the airport with two of the camp volunteers. At the time I hadn’t told my parents yet, afraid of what they might say, so I spent the 1 ½ hour drive back to Atlanta letting a few trusted friends know what had happened – there were a few I wanted to tell personally before they had to find out via social media. (I had done the same when I had announced that I was first accepted to the race – it only seemed fair)
So I got to the airport and found out I couldn’t check luggage for another three hours – I had arrived around 12:30 and it was a 9:00 flight. The airporter/converter that my pack goes in isn’t exactly the easiest thing to lug around, so I had to find a seat and park myself somewhere. The only free space I could find? The exact spot where I had met my squad for the first time, and if that wasn’t enough insult to injury, my flight number was 1111. After finally getting my luggage checked and accidentally getting on the tram/subway only to end up in the same place, I had a lot of time to kill. I spent most of it wandering around the terminals, stopping at random gates to charge my phone whenever I had to.
I hadn’t looked in a mirror for the entire time I was at training camp – there weren’t any around – so when I finally got a peek at my reflection in the airport bathroom, I did not like what I saw. I stared at my sandals, tie-dye shirt still streaked with red Georgia dirt, and my bandana tied around my greasy hair and thought to myself. “Who is this sad hippie who looks like she hasn’t taken a real shower in days (which was true) and probably changed her clothes in a port-a-potty at some point? (also true).”
One of the last placed I checked out before getting on the plane to return to New York was a piano bar near the food court, and I eavesdropped just long enough to pick up that the pianist was playing “I Dreamed a Dream.” It was a sweet, private moment, and I’m glad I stumbled upon it.
I’m back at home, and I’m not 100% sure what my next steps are going to be yet. But I am still a World Racer – I just won’t be starting and finishing my race at the times I originally planned.
Life has not killed the dream I dreamed; It has merely put it on hold for a little while. If it is God’s will for me to go on the Race, it will happen somehow. I would appreciate your prayers as I re-adjust to living at home (or possibly somewhere else) as I move forward with this year.
(Side note – speaking of being re-routed, my squad found out that there would be some changes to their route. Their new list of countries: Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, Malaysia, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Swaziland, Botswana, and South Africa. Please be praying for them as well as they prepare for launch and leave in September)
